


A Life that Could Have Been

by BrilliantAssassin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 10:03:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrilliantAssassin/pseuds/BrilliantAssassin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The life that Sherlock knows may not truly be his reality...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Life that Could Have Been

Sherlock dramatically threw himself down onto the couch that occupied the back wall of 221b Baker Street. "Bored." He stated in a monotone voice, dropping his head back onto the armrest.

John, who had only just followed the detective into their flat, paused in the doorway for a moment, struggling to keep his hands grasping the handles of the shopping bag and not Sherlock's throat. "We've only just returned from the shop!" he cried, a hint of exasperation on his tone.

"Yes, and a particularly boring trip it was." Holmes rolled his head to the side, eying the other as he closed the door with a foot and headed for the kitchen so as to put the groceries away. "How _do_ you manage taking on such.. mundane daily tasks?"

A tin of tea was slammed onto the counter, a look of seething annoyance dominating the doctor's features. He knew that, of course, Sherlock 'knew' the answer to his rhetorical question. "Because I'm _average_?" he questioned, twirling around to look at the source of his agitation, only to jerk back into the counter. "Jeeze, Sherlock!"

During the time that Watson had taken to gather his thoughts, the pouting detective had silently slithered up, much like a big cat, and was now standing directly in front of him. At John's reply though, his eyebrows knit together in genuine confusion. "Average? No… Nothing quite that simple."

The military man watched his flatmate's face, arms coming up to cross over his chest (thankfully covering the horrid pattern on the jumper that Harry had given him). "Right, what am I then?" he demanded. His lips pressed straight together, forming a line as he silently fumed, waiting for Sherlock's answer.

But an answer he did not receive. The superior intellect merely looked at him for a long moment before giving an almost disappointed sounding "Hmm" as he straightened his back. "Tea?" he asked, moving away from his colleague to flick on the electric kettle.

Watson blinked, having yet to adjust to Sherlock's sudden topic segways. "Err... right, yes."

"Excellent, I'll be in my room." This only received a deadpanned 'you've got to be fucking kidding me' look onto his retreating back, John's hands reaching for the well used mugs regardlessly.

Not long after, the sound of violin music began to issue from Holmes' room, playing a new medley that John hadn't heard before. He stood still, watching the tea seep as he allowed the music to flow over him, attempting to distinguish the meaning behind it. He quickly pushed the wandering aside though as he fished the teabags out of their darkening sea and spruced up the drinks, silently carrying Sherlock's to his cavern of a room and setting it down on the windowsill beside him.

"John..." the voice stopped him as he was about to exit the room.

"...?"

"The tea's perfect." was the dully noted statement that the other made. John half turned to look at Holmes, who had laid the instrument aside and was now vigorously sipping the steaming beverage.

They exchanged a long, meaningful look, the corner of Watson's mouth twitching into an almost smile. "Right, let me just fetch mine..."


End file.
